by Aidan Harte
Sofia kept her seat and shouted back, ‘Gonfaloniere, I heard the same argument used to deny you a seat once. You didn’t want to be taxed without a say in how it was spent. If you were right then, then you’re wrong now.’
Fabbro, furious that Sofia hadn’t bothered to stand, remembered the contempt Doc Bardini had shown the old Signoria. ‘It seems to me, Signorina Scaligeri sometimes forgets that Rasenna no longer owes allegiances to Count or Contessa. She has voice in this house only as prior of the Bandieratori Guild. The Scaligeri did not rule by consultation. When, I wonder, did she acquire her love of the people? Was it when she realised what she had given up? Was it when she realised that parliamentarians must persuade equals, not command subjects?’
‘Stick to the point, Gonfaloniere,’ the notary interjected.
‘Very well, it’s easily refuted. Signorina Scaligeri does not compare like with like. Yes, I objected to the Families’ rule: the city they ran was feuding. The city they ran was poor. The city I run is at peace. The city I run is prosperous. Enough. I don’t have to explain myself to this spoiled girl, whatever she once was. There are other matters on the agenda. Let’s vote.’
As the notary prepared to read the motion, Levi stood.
‘Podesta, you have no vote.’
‘I know that. I know nobody asked my opinion either. I’m giving it anyway. Some have argued that a wider franchise would be fairer; I don’t know about that. But there is the practical consideration of stability. Whatever little you earn you’ll lose if there’s a revolt.’
‘Even the Small People know tax is a fact of life,’ the brewer started.
‘That’s true,’ Levi admitted, ‘but they also know the less of it, the better. And if you insist on raising a new tax, I’d hope it was going to pay for something more useful than this—’
‘Like defence I suppose,’ said Fabbro crossly. ‘The Hawk’s Company is quite enough of a drain as it is. Be seated, Podesta.’
The notary called for the vote and the Wool Guild’s cascade of ayes led the way.
After the meeting, Pedro caught up with Sofia on the bridge. ‘Sofia, wait up! I’m sorry. I should have told you I went to Concord.’
‘You shouldn’t have gone!’
‘My gonfaloniere ordered me to survey the canal; what was I to do?
‘Refuse! Some people still don’t understand that we survived the siege because we had Giovanni, but I know you do. You not only endangered yourself playing spy, you endangered Rasenna.’
‘I admit it was risky – that doesn’t mean the canal’s a bad idea. The rest of the priors are greedy dogs, but Fabbro’s no fool. Levi’s proved that patriotic arguments don’t move the Ariminumese. We can’t afford to be irrational now of all times. Giovanni never was—’ Pedro stopped himself as soon as he saw Sofia’s reaction. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—’
‘No, maybe you’re right,’ Sofia said. ‘I’m just a little tired today.’
She left him standing there and crossed the bridge and Piazza Stella slowly. She climbed the slope of the healthy hills, and then Tower Scaligeri’s stairway. By the time she reached her chamber she was breathing hard. A month ago she could navigate Rasenna’s rooftops without breaking a sweat; now she was earthbound. As soon as she closed the door behind her she threw herself on the bed, pouring her tears on the pillow.
What was wrong with her? Pedro might very well be right: she was angry with Fabbro, but that was nothing unusual. Rather than persuasion, he always liked to present the Signoria with a fait accompli. The only thing unusual was that this time, Pedro had gone along with it. She touched her stomach protectively as she raised her head and looked out the window. The sun gleamed on the golden angel on the locker. What else did she expect? The buio waiting for her to tell her it had all been a terrible mistake? She wondered sometimes if it had been a dream, but the as-yet imperceptible swell of her belly said otherwise.
CHAPTER 35
The Gospel According to St Barabbas
19
To escape the agents of Herod, Mary returned home to Galilee. She fled into the highlands, hiding no longer but searching now. Etruscan legionaries avoided these dry hills for fear of Sicarii. These desperate men, known for their cruel hearts and ready daggers, were led by a great thief, Barabbas. For forty days, Mary searched in the caves and lonely places.
20
When She came upon them, Barabbas said unto Her, Woman, How did you find us, and how is it you are not afraid, for we are desperate men? And Mary answered, Because my murdered husband Josephus was one of your secret brethren. Here is his dagger. I would learn to use it for I too am desperate. Your cause is my cause.
21
So She lived with them, learned their skills of disguise, dissimulation and assassination. She had much practise for in those days many had taken the Etruscans’ silver. Her deeds became known from Dan to Beer Sheva.
CHAPTER 36
New understanding brought new focus. As Isabella’s Water Style improved, so did her ability to teach her novices and they improved together. Whatever danger the Handmaid faced, the Sisterhood would be ready to help her.
Isabella sat crosslegged on the chapel floor. The stained glass bathed her in warm light, red and yellow interwoven with slivers of blues and purples. In front of her on the small low table sat the glass. Heavy beads trembled on its rim and on the young nun’s forehead. When she inhaled, the surface of the water swelled; when she exhaled, it sagged. Concave … convex … Her hooded eyes watched the centre gain mass, growing round, rising, a drip forming upside down. She huffed like a weight-lifter, her cheeks swollen and red.
‘Madonna!’
Attaining greater height, the swelling became a sphere, and now the glass it floated above began to tremble. There was a high-pitched crack! and a lattice of jagged lines interrupted the surface of the glass. The unseen arrow loosed.
‘Ahhh!’ Isabella covered her face as shards flew around the room. The water spilled onto the floor. She stood and composed herself, looking contritely at the cracked stained glass. From its fractured tapestry, the Madonna looked serenely at the impatiently hovering angel. ‘I’m trying. Give me strength.’
In the sun-kissed enclosed garden, the ranks of the sisterhood practised Water Style. There were more than a dozen of them now. They wore white linen gowns with short, practical sleeves. Some were orphans like Isabella, but most were new mothers whose children had died and who had been turned out by their families for disgracing their towers. It might strike outsiders as odd that the novices were older than their Mother Superior, but not them. They knew what Isabella was capable of.
‘Enough! Let’s see you apply what you’ve learned. Prevent me from entering the baptistery.’
The hitherto synchronised dance became a series of individual sets, faster but still graceful. Isabella was a dark silhouette among the fluttering white; the elaborately long sleeves of her habit stretched after her as her lithe body tumbled in the air, moving across the courtyard like a darting bird, her feet touching earth only momentarily. Graceful as the novices were, they looked clumsy trying to catch her. It wasn’t a question of speed, but of fluidity. Her winding route between the novices was preordained as a river’s course. She had almost reached the end of the courtyard when a hard-eyed figure leapt out from the doorway. Instantly reacting, Isabella kicked the edge of the door to propel herself backwards, twisting so that she landed upright.
The novice fell to the ground with a grunt.
Isabella stood in the doorway and held out a helping hand. ‘Good effort, Carmella.’
The novice stood on her own. ‘Not good enough.’
‘You’ll get there,’ said Isabella, then to the group, ‘just like the rest of you. Back to it. Another hour.’
Isabella turned her back on Carmella and walked into the coolness of the baptistery. The novice stared after her with a mixture of admiration and resentment. Carmella hadn’t lost her family in a burn-out, or been disgraced like the other
s. She was one of the orphans created in the siege; Rasenna’s hour of glory was her nadir. She was the type of hard-knuckled girl one found in the bandieratori towers: proud, with endless reserves of wrath.
Isabella had to stand on tip-toe to look down into the baptismal font. With a dancer’s grace she leapt and seated herself on the edge of the dark water. There was little light to reflect except certain golden gleamings from the walls, the brightest point the tip of the Herod’s Sword hanging over the font. Isabella involuntarily shivered as she beheld the sacred symbol. Rasenneisi parents held their babes beneath it, that they might became one with He who had died prematurely from an imprudent excess of love.
Isabella looked up. ‘I was just thinking of you.’
‘I haven’t been avoiding you,’ Sofia said lamely. ‘It’s this place. I come here and I think of the Reverend Mother and the Doc. It scares me. Even when the Families were at their worst, we had them to defend it. All we have now is an army.’
‘And you.’
‘I’m not Contessa any more.’
‘You’re much more than that. Memories weren’t keeping you away. You didn’t want me to discover the truth. Sofia, you need to understand there’s no escaping it. Soon everyone will know.’
‘How could I be—?’ Sofia began, then stopped in embarrassment. ‘I’ve never been with a man.’
‘I believe you.’
‘No one else will.’
‘You accepted the responsibility. Now you must live with it.’
‘Why?’ Sofia felt like a child who finds the rules changed. ‘I thought that when I said yes, there would be a change in the world as well as me. If I’m lucky, people will whisper behind my back. More likely they’ll call me whore to my face. My grandfather made the Scaligeri name famous and Doc died defending it. I had to give up my title – I accept that, and I accept that Rasenna has to change – but why must my name be tarnished? Can’t God change the hearts of men? He can open tracks in the desert, move mountains, stop rivers. If this child is His, shouldn’t everyone know it?’
‘No one can know,’ Isabella hissed, ‘and you know why.’ She pointed to the sword above their heads. ‘Nothing’s changed in two thousand years. The same power that destroyed the Madonna’s child will murder yours if It learns of Him.’
‘But why must I sacrifice my name?’
‘It’s that or your child. Would you choose differently?’
When Sofia said nothing, Isabella asked, ‘What did the Apprentice say? The one in red you and Giovanni fought on the bridge.’
‘Before the river took him he said he was going to tell his Master.’
The beads worked in Isabella’s fingers, a habit she had learned from the Reverend Mother. ‘The Madonna was just a woman like you. Herod and Bernoulli were just men, but this child, this child is more.’
‘What if I’m too weak?’
‘Then Man will sleep on, troubled by the same old nightmares. But if you are strong enough – O, what a wakening!’
Sofia’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’ll give up everything – become a nun; people can whisper all they want.’
‘There’s no safety here.’
‘Where could be safer than Rasenna?’
‘There is refuge only at the World’s centre.’
‘Are you pazzo? Jerusalem is half a world away.’
‘You’d sense the water’s flow if you still practised contemplation.’
Sofia could not deny it. She’d sought to avoid water since the buio’s visitation, but nowhere in Rasenna was far from the Irenicon, and every time she crossed Giovanni’s bridge she felt it: a black storm of hunger blowing towards Rasenna, and the river whispering Run! Run while you can!
She had ignored it. She had been Contessa and bride in Rasenna, prisoner in Concord and cook in the Hawk’s Company; if she must be Handmaid now, very well, but for once it would be on her terms. The ceaseless costume changes were like some desperate farce and she was tired of it. Most of all, she was tired of running.
‘Sofia, war is coming. The longer you tarry, the greater the danger to you, and the worse the destruction visited on Rasenna. Wherever you go now, the Darkness follows. Now that It knows you’re in the world, Its agents hunt for you. Stop and It will consume you. There is no safe tower, no friend who cannot be corrupted, no water that will not be polluted.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Isabella cupped her hands in the baptismal font and held up her palms. They were covered in blood.
CHAPTER 37
The Gospel According to St Barabbas
22
As Mary grew strong in Galilee, ill tidings came from Jerusalem. When Her father Zacharias had discovered his colleagues were loyal to the tyrant, he railed at them, O worthless priests, corrupt thou art and corrupt is your work. The sacrifices ye offer up to the Lord in this Temple are an abomination.
23
But the priests laughed and turned away, saying, Who is this fool?
24
And Zacharias waxed angry and crept into the tunnels beneath the Temple. He knew the secret sign that would release the demon that Solomon had there imprisoned. No sooner had Zacharias made the mark than a great wind sprang up. In fear he fell back, and when he opened his eyes, a Jinni looked down upon him.
25
Man, it said unto him, I will not kill thee. As you have done me service so I am bound to do thee service. What dost thou wish? Women?
26
No, said Zacharias, I am a priest of the Temple and must preserve my purity.
27
A thousand pardons, the Jinni said. Gold then? Fame?
28
Demon, I told thee I serve the Lord. There is no greater treasure.
29
Truly, Man, temptation is wasted on thee.
30
Demon, I am old and want for nothing. What I ask, I ask on my daughter’s behalf.
31
Sore exasperated the Jinni asked, And what is that?
32
And Zacharias answered, Revenge.
CHAPTER 38
As Sofia predicted, the nuptials of Rosa Sorrento and Piers Becket were heralded in every piazza. Becket was enthusiastic about joining Rasenna’s magnates, and Polo Sorrento – though still cold to his daughter – was mollified by the new prominence his tower would gain in the transaction. The condottieri might be nothing more than foreign thugs with swords, but their ranks and military bearing created an air of legitimacy that a bodyguard of masterless bandieratori could never match. Watching how the farmer had turned humiliation to profit, the other magnates considered selling their own daughters before they were taken for free.
A great feast was prepared in Piazza Luna, with tables of meat and drink and entertainments not seen since the night the bridge opened. The ceremony itself was quickly got out of the way in the doorstep of the roofless church, while the bride’s mother nursed the baby. The crowd in Piazza Stella was oddly muted as the couple began their procession to the bridge.
They crossed in an ominous hush, and Becket looked over his shoulder at the silent, menacing crowd following them. He was relieved to pass under the guard of honour formed by his fellow captains and enter Piazza Luna, where he led his shy bride up the steps of the Palazzo del Popolo and turned to let the crowd admire them – except there was no crowd. When the guard of honour broke up, they discovered the train of followers was still occupying the bridge, and showed no sign of moving.
The father of the bride looked on in horror as his public triumph became another public disgrace. ‘Bombelli, what does this mean?’
Piers Becket, equally embarrassed, asked the same question of his commander but, like Fabbro, Levi confessed ignorance. ‘I’m going to find out though,’ he said, and grabbed Yuri. They caught up with Fabbro as he reached the bridge. The trio stood between the stone lions facing the rows of weavers and carders carrying the obscure flags of minor Guilds.
‘Who’s in charge here?’ sai
d Fabbro, and to Sophia, ‘and it better not be you.’ Sofia wasn’t carrying the Art Bandiera flag – that would have been too provocative. She said nothing as the line behind her parted.
‘I am.’
‘Pedro!’ Fabbro sighed. ‘I’m not surprised to see Scaligeri here, but you understand what the Signoria means.’
Sofia said, ‘A law needing coercion to be enacted is a bad law.’
Fabbro ignored her. ‘Pedro, is this necessary? It’s supposed to be a happy day. Why spoil the couple’s celebration?’
Pedro was unmoved. ‘We’re supposed to celebrate the condottieri and major Guilds climbing into bed together? If the minor Guilds can’t be heard in the Signoria, they’re going to be heard here. I’m not here as an engineer. I’m here as a citizen.’
‘The point of this marriage was to prevent strife,’ Levi interjected. ‘Tell him, Sofia.’
‘I went along with it until I saw its real purpose. The Mercanzia wouldn’t have dared propose the salt tax without arms behind them. Yes, that’s right, Bombelli; I know about your little parties.’
Fabbro looked away from his godson in disgust and settled on Sofia, ‘I seem to recall you took part in a vote, Scaligeri. If this is how you act when a decision doesn’t go your way, why not burn down the Signoria and be done with it? These citizens are subject to the Signoria. We don’t rule by their consent; we rule by right. By taking part in this unseemly protest you undermine the law. Sedition’s a strong word, but I’m struggling to find a better.’
Pedro said, ‘A Signoria that rules by compulsion is no different than the old one.’
‘So those bandieratori sitting on their flags over the river, I’m supposed to ignore them? And what happens if I order the Podesta to break up this little party?’
Sofia said, ‘Don’t do it, Bombelli. My bandieratori come from the families that make up the Guilds on this bridge. I won’t stop them defending their families.’